101 pages of introspection
by Spirit of the Wind
Summary: 101 drabbles centred around the senshi and the shitennou. Rating may increase.
1. Author's note

**Author's Notes**

Soo before I start, I'd like to say that it's been a very long hiatus. Uni exams are actually in a week, so I've delved back into writing fanfiction as a procrastination of sorts. Bad habit, I know.

This is one I had sitting on my laptop for a couple of years. I'd wanted to write a series of drabbles ever since I read my first drabble, so I will be systematically making my way (in no particular order at all) through 101 themes centred around the senshi and their counterparts the shitennou.

I would love any constructive criticism. It's been a while since anyone has read anything I'd written (academic essays aside), and feedback is always good (unless you want to be snarky in which case, I will ignore you completely).

As for my other stories… well. I happen to think they are just plain horrible. Maybe I'll tweak them, or just abandon them as remnants of a bygone era. Oh look at that – I haven't seemed to have lost any of my drama queen tendencies.

On with the show!

* * *

**Disclaimer**

I do not own anything. Except the ways by which the characters are tortured.


	2. Lace gauntlet

**Prompt #73: Are you challenging me?**

**Genre: **General/Humour

**Rating: **PG-13

* * *

He did not understand. Was it so wrong of him to think that biologically, a woman's place is not and never will be on the field of battle? They certainly possessed the mental acuity for positions of power – the entire Hermean race was testament of that, and he'd read enough of ruthless female sovereigns to know that there was no such thing as a 'proper feminine emotion'. But to serve as common foot soldiers?

He felt an unfathomable desire to smack one blonde idiot up-side the head, the next time he saw him (assuming the hot-tempered Arien hadn't gotten to him first). It was his fault that this topic even came about, and it was not a topic one broached when in the company of extra-terrestrial _female soldiers._ Jadeite's not-so-subtle snigger had been enough to convey his exact thoughts on the matter. The man had never had a talent for diplomacy.

The little Hermean princess seemed happy enough to weigh both sides of the argument – she and Zoisite were well-read enough to take the neutral position on pretty much all topics. But as usual, the Arien and Zeun princesses bristled and declared challenges (to which, much to his horror, his second and third command both smiled dubiously at). He imagined the bruises were forming at this very moment, and took comfort in the fact that the aforementioned princesses would not hesitate to let their great pride and indignation be known as violently as possible. Well. He'd always reminded them that underestimation got people killed.

He himself rarely voiced his opinions so readily, and even more rarely would he press his full strength when his opponent was a woman, but as his eyes followed the Magellan princess dragging her Lunarian counterpart down to their quarters for a discussion on the 'oh so amazing eyes of that Ranien officer from three-something nights ago-' he considered himself safe from an uncalled-for beating, even if she was capable of besting him in combat in heels and a skirt.

And so it was with great trepidation and wariness that he watched her approach now, standing ramrod straight under the great oak trees from Jupiter, a week after that innocent exchange. He had to admit – swordless, she could still bring many a lesser man to his knees, and that look in her eyes, though her lips curved in a wordless smile, did not bode well for him. With a sinking feeling, he knew that with his 'no fighting with the fairer sex' policy, he was about to feel it in every muscle of his body. But small talk first; wasn't that what politics were all about? "Milady."

She sashayed the last two metres to come within arms' length of him. "Why General, fancy seeing you in the gardens at this time of the day." Of course, the whole court knew that it was his custom to read under the Zeun oaks after lunch.

"Our forests on Earth are all haunted, so I must take this rare opportunity now that we are off-planet to enjoy the great outdoors."

She pealed bell-like laughter, and he felt the pressure of her gloved hand on the expanse of his uniform-clad arm. "How delightful! However," she leaned in close, "I must warn that white garments don't do so well on green grass. It leaves a rather permanent stain."

He knew this, of course, having seen childhood Jadeite and Nephrite go through white uniforms like Zoisite through books, but he politely intoned, "Thank you for the warning, I'll be sure to keep to the benches." He hoped that would be the extent of their interaction, but it didn't seem the case.

Her nearness was beginning to unsettle him now. She'd sidled up rather intimately, and he realised that she really was quite small, the top of her head barely levelling with his shoulders, and that mass of golden hair was saturated with some clean and sweet scent, and he couldn't help himself inhaling deeply. She'd hooked her arm through his somewhat stiff limb and had just _leaned_ into his side. What made him doubly uncomfortable was the fact that he couldn't see those expressive cerulean eyes that easily betrayed her intentions (or so he thought). And by the time she'd upturned her face to gaze at him, it was too late. For him.

He didn't even see it coming. With well-placed jab, a flip of a deceptively strong wrist, and a well placed ankle, he was sprawled on the grass on his back, temporarily paralysed, the wind knocked out of him, with the sound of her bell laughter in his ringing ears. In a daze, he watched as she hitched up the flowing chiffon of her dress to her knees and knelt down to straddle him with those impossibly long legs. Her weight and heat pressed over his belly; suddenly breathless, he realised that Magellans had distinctly different attitudes concerning the wearing of underwear. Her face was so beautifully innocent, and yet-

Still stunned, he watched with half-lidded eyes as she leaned forward, her thumbs brushing the throbbing of his carotid pulse, her hands smoothing down the expanse of his torso, his abdomen… then she was hovering over him and her soft lips catching the corner of his mouth, a calculating glint in her eye, both playful and aggressive. By the time he'd finished blinking, she'd disappeared in a flurry of skirts.

As the paralysis wore off, he felt an overwhelming sense of exasperation as he realised that apart from the most horrible of grass stains sure to mark the length of his back, he had one other little problem to take care of. As soon as the tingling abated in his extremities, his hands lifted laboriously to his hip and pulled the not-so-subtle lace glove from the waistband of his pants where her deft fingers had tucked it.

A common foot soldier she most definitely was not.

* * *

_Throwing the gauntlet – a challenge to a duel issued by the throwing of a gauntlet/glove_


	3. One night, one tree

**Prompt #5: Seeking Solace**

**Rating: **T (language)

* * *

In a fit of impulsivity, she rips those god-damn painful heels from her feet and dashes across the grass, the pastoral tempest nearly lifting her airborne. Deftly, she clinches her dress about her waist, hoisting herself into the great Zeun oak with smoothness born from practice. High winds tug the loose ribbons away and sweep her hair about her face. She finds her footing easily among the branches. She leans back in her favourite seat, from where, on a clear day, she might see the sky, ignoring the bark digging into her back through the thin dress. She knows it is childish of her to just up and leave, but she had to breathe. The whole damn lot of it – protocol, proper conduct, duties, responsibilities – _everything_ had just felt like an anvil on her chest. _If only this storm would just blow them all to oblivion…_ Her sigh is lost in the wind.

"Enjoying the breeze?"

The unexpected voice makes her eyes fly open. _How…?_ But then she recognises the lilting accent and resists the urge to groan at her misfortune. She hadn't realised that he'd left the ballroom as well, let alone find solace in a tree. And as it was with her luck, of the forest of Zeun oaks, it just had to be this one. "General. This is _my_ tree." There was a rustle of leaves followed by a muffled curse, and she smirks as she imagines that the tree had taken a swipe at him.

"Forgive me for interrupting… The atmosphere in the hall was too constricting."

She can hear him scrambling around amongst the foliage and rolls her eyes to herself. "The ball was thrown for your benefit, General. Surely there are better ways to flout authority."

There was silence for a moment at his end before he replies, "I could say the same for you, guest of honour Crown Princess of Jupiter." From his lips, her title sounded more like an insult.

She couldn't believe she was going to play his game, and wonders if she could be blamed if he 'fell' and broke something important. "If your background checks had been thorough enough, you'd know that the Zeun princess is not one for parties and balls, and much prefers breaking noses to coiffing her hair."

"And which part of that is supposed to shock me?"

She twists around at his bark of laughter. She acknowledged that she was not the most feminine of women, but she feels her hackles rise to his taunt. "What are you implying?" She hopes that he doesn't realise what dangerous territory he was converging on – then she'd have a legitimate cause to pummel him into the ground.

Either he doesn't, or he simply did not care as he starts to tick off an imaginary list. "You're freakishly tall, muscled, you swear like a sailor when you think no-one can hear. You're confident and dominant and you push so hard to be treated as an equal." He seemed blissfully unaware of her hands balling into fists. "You're so damn strong! Plus everyone knows your father wanted a son, so you're always overcompensating – your archery is better than half the men in my army, for gods' sake. And on top of that, you have no idea ho-"

"That's it!" Cut off mid-sentence, he stares wide-eyed as she draws herself to full height, balanced on a branch over a whole lot of thin air. "You think you can just come here to my place of solace, and insult me to my face like that?" She has no idea what an imposing figure she strikes, garments tossing in the wind, mahogany hair tangling in the leaves. "You and you're god-damn precious Earth wanting in on a millennia-old alliance which means _I_ have to marry your sorry ass because our Moon queen has trust issues and can't bear to surrender her precious daughter to your master – and do you know how infuriating it is that you can't even respect me because I'm not a simpering idiot from your blue marble of a planet?"

He cocks an eyebrow, but stays silent as she continues to vent at him. "And lucky for me, Zeun culture doesn't place a premium on love in a life-bond, but one of my closest companions does and now she has to wed that stick in the mud you call a leader? You and your god-damn _arrogance_ to just waltz in and destroy everything we've worked to keep, and all you can say is how fucking _tall_ I am? I can't believe I've tried to be civil and mature about this for four forsaken months. The moment you try to approach me after we are wed, I will cut off that worm you call a cock. Or, since you don't seem to be listening, I can do so right now just to prove a point!"

To his credit he had been listening to every word, but she doesn't realise that his eyes had been judging the distance between his branch and hers through her impassioned outburst. Leaping, he prays that the branch would hold their combined weight, as his momentum causes him to pin her to the tree trunk behind her. Pressing his front against her back, he makes sure to secure her hands and hold her down firmly enough to be immobile. It would not do to fall out (or get thrown out). "Get the fuck off me!" And to _her_ credit, the threat of catching air did not stop her struggling for even a moment.

"Listen to me, you banshee." He twists her arm hard enough to get her to pause. "I never said those were flaws. And if had let me finish my sentence-"

"Shut up-" she snarls, "–you're not getting out of this so easily."

"_Listen_. I was going to say that you have no idea how fucking gorgeous you are."

She stills, mostly out of shock, then incredulity. "Don't make me laugh. I know your type – petite, coquettish, with blonde hair and open legs." At his unvoiced question, she supplies, "We run our own background checks too."

He was even taller than her, and proved it by resting his chin on her head. "Hey, if I wanted a – well – _simpering idiot_ as you put so eloquently, I would certainly not have picked you." Her body had not lost any of the tension, but at least she was in a listening mood now. "My 'type' on Earth was certainly like that, because there is _only _one type of court harpy." He loosens his punishing grip on her arms so they wouldn't bruise coming morning. "All those things I said were true. And they're what make me want you."

The incredulity was oozing out of her pores. "Seriously. The fact that I swear is attractive to you? Were you dropped on your head?"

He smirks against her hair. "Yes, but that is beside the point. Everything about you says that you don't take crap from others. You aren't delicate or mincing or fragile." He releases her now and she turns to face him. "You might not love me, but I hope we can at least be friends. My sister was married off to a man she hated, so I hope things can be different between us."

He was standing far too close for comfort, so she tries to insert a change of mood. "So what are you planning to do – seduce me?"

"As long as you don't try to cut my… parts… off."

A blush blooms across her cheeks as she remembers her words of anger and frustration. "You're a jerk," she mumbles.

He leans close, audacity growing with her discomfort. "A roguishly handsome jerk?"

Her eyes flash as she prods his chest. "Don't get cute. I'm still angry at you. At all you Terrans."

He hops onto a neighbouring branch and sits down. "Well, I'm sorry," he says simply. Then, after she'd perched herself on the branch again, he points out candidly that "My cock is not a worm."

For a moment she stares back, before somewhat choked laughter bubbles up, and he's satisfied that she really wasn't that angry. He's still close enough to touch her, so he reaches out and folds a lock of brunet hair behind her ear. She looks at him strangely, searchingly, and he meets her green eyes. There was a peace there he hadn't noticed before.


	4. Gray's Anatomy

**Prompt #83: Out Cold**

**Rating:** PG

* * *

She rubbed bleary eyes as she yawned deeply. Turning lethargically onto her side, still half-asleep, she groped for her alarm to- she paused in her movements, fingers finding the small OFF button still depressed. She squinted up at the neon numbers – 3:02 am. With a groan, she rolled back onto her back, wondering what on earth had caused her to wake up at such an ungodly hour. _Must be all that caffeine I chugged last night_ time during which she had spent preparing for respiratory physiology. Yawning again, she buried herself back in the warmth of her duvet, slowly drifting off into the land of…

Her eyes shot open again, and this time, the sound registered – the door knob resisting someone's incessant turning against the lock. She sat up in her bed, skin prickling. The muffled curse and the thud of fist meeting wood kicked her preservation response into high gear. _Someone's breaking in someone's breaking in someone's breaking in-_

Slipping out of her bed (gasping as the cold hit her) she edged towards the front of the apartment. Just soft metallic twangs now – he was probably picking the lock (not very skillfully, by the sounds of it) – and she'd _she'd forgot to set the dead-bolt_. Running a shaking hand through her short hair, she made a mental note to kick herself if she made it out alive. _Stupid stupid… what's the use of having genius IQ if all your memory can do is fail?_

She glanced wildly around the room, cold momentarily forgotten. Chairs, table, vase, textbooks – _heavy, potentially lethal, good_ – lamp, wine, windows _Windows!_ Windows meant balcony which meant escape if she- what? Jumped? She wanted to hit herself.

_Um um umm ummmmm…_

There was grunt of satisfaction and the lock clicked smoothly, and she could swear her heart stopped right there in her throat. There was only one thing left to do.

Tiptoeing to her stack of texts and lugging out the Gray's Anatomy dead weight, she moved as quickly as physically possible to position herself atop the chair beside the door. He was twisting the knob now; she waited, poised along the door frame. The door slid open a crack, light spilling in from the hallway, then to about forty-five degrees, followed by a leather-clad foot and dark jeans. Barely breathing, she imagined that if he looked up now, he'd probably have a heart attack himself.

Her arms were beginning to ache – if only he'd hurry up with his dramatic entrance!_ Come on come on, give me something important, like an expanse of cervical spine, or, you know, any part of your skull…_

Finally the rest of his body swung to her side of the door frame, and the curly copper-coloured ponytail had barely registered in her adrenaline-addled brain before, with a great yell, she threw her weight behind the looming medical text and crash landed on the prone form of her intruder. Momentarily stunned, she hoped Gray's had poked a corner into something important (her sternum was testament to that). Then she realized her position and scrambled off the body, leaving the book where it had fallen (right clavicle and a significant part of the trachea).

She peered down at the new addition to her carpet, which gave a masculine groan before falling silent. Tentatively, she nudged her textbook off his chest with a foot, before issuing a groan of frustration herself, recognising the handsome face immediately. God-damn Zach. She sniffed – alcohol. Typical.

Hearing neighbours start to unlock their doors (she probably hadn't needed to yell so loudly), she grabbed the aforementioned Zach by his ankles, tugging him inside enough so she could close the door (locked and _dead-bolted_). She wondered if she could kick him (gently…) without him waking up. But she decided she'd be civil to a fellow student, so retrieved a bag of frozen carrots (which she deposited unceremoniously over the rapidly forming Gray's-Anatomy-shaped bruise), some novel from the Mina-recommended stack, _a jacket_, and perched on the edge of the chair to wait for his system to come back online.

After two chapters, he stirred slowly, and she grinned at the thought that his head must be killing him. As he hissed in pain, she waited for his eyes to adjust to his unconventional vantage point, take in his environment, then – "Ami? What to hell are you doing in my apartment?"

She rolled her eyes, turning a page. "It's my apartment, you drunk dolt. Yours is a floor down."

His hand pressed against his temple as he willed the room to stop spinning. "Thanks for the wake-up. You have quite an arm."

She pretended to be riveted to her book. "The normal response to intruders is heavy objects against skulls, isn't it?"

He blinked owlishly, processing, neck twisting as he tried to assess his surroundings. "Is that- is that Gray's Anatomy?"

She coughed. "I don't have a baseball bat. And my pot plant is too heavy."

"And frozen carrots? How considerate." He picked the plastic baggie off his chest. _Guess his sarcasm hadn't been impaired at all._

"I don't like peas."

The room came to a standstill enough for him to sit upright. Even from behind her book, she could feel that annoying self-confidence/arrogance returning, and he really didn't have to talk-

"What the hell are you wearing?"

Incredibly frustrated at the blood flooding her cheeks, she tried to go for nonchalance. "My sleep clothes – eyes up here!" Crossing her legs and meeting his green eyes over the top of _The Emancipation of Lady Francis_, she mustered her sweetest voice – "If you don't leave right now, I'll give you a Boron-and-Boulpaep-shaped bruise to match the Gray's," before tapping her ankle against the pile of textbooks she'd propped beside her seat.

He stared incredulously. "You're bluffing." But he dragged himself to full height (and she hated how she now had to look up at him), and smirked before saluting, "Good night, Sailor Mercury," whistling as he disappeared into the corridor, and she realised that she'd forgotten all about blue bras under white camisoles.


	5. Waterworld

**Prompt #90: Drowning**

**Rating:** PG

* * *

Every day, she stands at that window. Some days a few seconds, sometimes an hour, her breath misting up the glass, watching the rivets of water running down over her reflection. Every day, he would stand with her for little, arms tight around her waist. He can feel her love when she clasps her hands in his, when she trails kisses butterfly-light over his skin. But when she thinks he isn't looking, that smile, that radiance dissolves. She's like a fairy wandering in the empty halls, lingering at the doors long welded shut, and he prays so hard for the rain to stop, even for a moment so he might see that pure unadulterated joy in her eyes again.

He hates himself for living here, ruling this sad drowning planet, where the water has washed out all colour, even to the roots of his hair, but he hates himself more for being unable to bear her leaving. She is stronger than anyone he could name, but she is a child of the light, and water wears away even cliffs if you but give it time.

It hadn't been all bad. Before, the cloud layer had just been a minor inconvenience, and the sun could still be seen several times a month. The first time they watched a sun-sighting together, she'd declared Clarion the winner of The Most Beautiful Rainbow award. They'd even been able to travel off-planet – to her home where everything was golden instead of gray, Jupiter the planet of the tempests, Mars and her deserts, cold cold Mercury, and her beloved sisters had been able to come here. He wanted her to live somewhere beautiful, somewhere with light, but she was adamant and he had caved far too easily, maybe a little selfishly. Now it was too dangerous to violate the clouds. Now there are no more rainbows, just Too Much Bloody Rain. They'd evacuated as many as possible, and now all they could do was wait. They'd laughed together at the irony – at peace with the entire cosmos for the first time in millennia, yet still prisoners in their own city. That was eight years ago; it was harder to laugh now.

Does she blame him, hate him? They never even fought about it. He wonders sometimes if it would help things to force some of that old impulsivity and passion – some of that _life_ – back into her by initiating a shouting match. He's too much of a coward. He makes love to her instead, tasting her lips when they should have been trading insults. He's too afraid that if he presses the wrong button, just a slip of the tongue, and she'd let go of the rope. He couldn't _couldn't_-

As they lay curved into each other, he tells her he is sorry. She is silent and still in his arms, then rolls around to face him, dangerous smile tugging at her mouth as her fingers find his sensitive spots until he was gasping for her to _stop tickling_, and his heart breaks to see her trying so hard to laugh like before.


	6. Drive

**Prompt #9: Drive**

**Rating:** G

* * *

He opened to his mouth to wonder, to ask, as she yanked open the passenger door and climbed in, long black strands of hair settling about her shoulders as if the static electricity was still diffusing out of them. But she slammed the door shut, and his mouth closed soundlessly as he turned mutely ahead. "Drive." He hadn't heard that particular brand of calm in a long time.

He hadn't felt this jittery behind the wheel since adolescence. He licked his dry lips. "What did he say?" She was the brooding sort – she'd brood forever if left to her own devices.

As expected, she was silent, then in a very brittle voice – "He refused, of course. What did you expect? My father-dearest practically gave it to him for free."

So used to her moods and thorns he didn't even flinch. "You must have thought you might be able to change his mind, otherwise why bother with the trip?" _Not to mention that outfit…_ he smiled inwardly. She'd take his head off, no question.

"No need to remind me." She picked absently at the fabric of the seat. "I'll just slam him over the phone next time. It's my home. I'll get it back," she said, more to herself than to him.

They'd been friends since primary school – he could hear when she hurt. "Maybe this is a good thing." He tried to broach the topic as carefully as possible. "You've lived at the shrine your entire life. Maybe now would be a good time for a change."

He could feel her stare burning a hole in his neck. "It's all I have. All my memories."

"All the hurtful memories too…" _God, he must really have a death wish… _surely she wouldn't hurt the driver? One could never tell with Rei. But he left the question hanging. Some things were better not to voice out loud.

She knew. Her father had vanished from her life at the bottom of those steps. Her mother in that room across the hall. Grandfather- The tears welled unbidden and she swiped at them angrily, forgetting she was wearing mascara.

"Hey-"

"You're right." His eyes widened a fraction. "But even so, I refuse to let a tycoon like Jacen Lancaster take it away from me," she continued, staring steadfastly out the window. "I've been fighting against his kind ever since I could remember. My father. And Kaidou. They don't get to win."

"You know, that kind of stubborn thinking will get you really hurt someday."

She snorted. "I'm already screwed up." Her voice was light and self-deprecating, but the black streaks ran the curve of her cheek, rounding her chin, dripping onto the white of her skirt.


	7. Mikhail

**Prompt #27: Foreign**

**Rating:** PG-13

* * *

When Zephyr first perused the room assignments for the year, he'd taken one look at the name _Mikhail Marinov_ and immediately pictured some six foot three platinum blonde with a build and disposition to rival that of Kieron's. Obviously a transfer then – those types tend to stick out, even in a Men's College filled to the brim with alpha males. Zephyr was nothing if not flexible. He took care to occupy a smaller corner than usual, keep his somewhat large collection of hair products in a box under his bed, and made a resolution to clean his curly copper strands out of the drain periodically. He knew better than anyone how… _breakable_… he really was. He was on his own here, the rest of his friends having opted for Alexander.

So when the door opened the afternoon before classes began, and those fine cheekbones, deep-set gray-blue eyes, porcelain-pale complexion fitted over a five foot six frame peered into the room, he was extremely confused. That smooth voice – flawless English – was more of a tenor than the growly baritone he'd prepared himself for. "Zephyr Frost?" – then rolling two suitcases in through the door and waiting expectantly.

He hoped he didn't look as confounded as he sounded. "_You're_ Mikhail Marinov?"

The newcomer nodded, smiling rather stiffly, before settling into the unclaimed half of the room. And Zephyr couldn't help but stare. His new roommate had to be the very poster-child of androgyny. He was most certainly the prettiest boy this side of the date line. Had they not been attending Vaughn, he would be convinced that he was in fact a she. He couldn't help but feel embarrassed now about his very rude reaction. "Hey, I'm sorry. It's just-" he swallowed thickly when those great blue eyes turned to regard him "-I kind of expected a much… bigger guy. Like Russian mafia. With tattoos. Bald, maybe…" he knew he was rambling and turning red. "And I'm really sorry for, you know, working the stereotype, but you're really the last thing I expected so-"

Mikhail's laughter cut him off abruptly, and he was surprised at how light it sounded. "Chill, I got it a lot, growing up." He dumped a pile of textbooks onto his bed. "From my dad's side of the family anyway. They're pretty tall people, being Bulgarian. I take after my mum's half, mostly."

Zephyr scratched at his head self-consciously, hoping he wasn't being too forward. "Is your, um, other half Asian by any chance?"

"Yep, my mum is Japanese. Odd mix isn't it."

"I think you turned out, um, just fine." He coughed uncomfortably, averting his eyes to stare out the window instead. _Geez, Z, way to make things awkward with the person you'll be living with for the next two years…_

Something flashed in his peripheral vision, and he ducked the flying socks out of instinct. At his questioning gaze, Mikhail shrugged and went back to unpacking his clothes with a calmness that must have been born from practice. "You're making _me_ uncomfortable, so stop acting like that. I've been quizzed like this my entire life, and I don't expect it to stop anytime soon."

Zephyr found himself staring dumbly again. "Yeah, okay."

"Good, now toss my socks back. Tell me about yourself."

"Oh! Um, there's not much to tell." Zephyr realized he was still clenching the rolled up cotton in his fist. "Uh, four older siblings; brothers were Vaughn boys as well, and Elena attended Emery…" As he uncurled his fingers to drop them on his roommate's bed, he caught a glimpse of a distinctive black outline and big red bow – "Is that- Are your socks _Hello Kitty_?"

His eyes shot up in time to see Mikhail's face turn a deep crimson as he grabbed the offending item and stuffed them under his shirts. "My mum's Japanese. It happens," he muttered under his breath.

Blinking at his squirming roommate, Zephyr suddenly felt mirth bubble up in his chest. And despite himself and his very warm face, Mikhail found the corners of his mouth turning up.

* * *

"What kind of a name is Zephyr anyway?"

The months passed quickly, a blur of assignments and exams. Vaughn was one of the last colleges in the New Millennia that still taught medicine and engineering of the Old World, and it came at a cost. None of the new technology was allowed within the school walls. Here, humans did the grounds work, paper work, cooking, teaching. It was challenging, exhausting, but here, the best minds of the Millennia were cultivated; here he felt alive. Or much like a masochist, headache in full force, lying face down on his bed after the very last of their mid-semester exams, the thrill of impending freedom rushing like ice through his veins. Glancing over at the mountains of books and paper on both their tables, then at his roommate collapsed in a chair, he could tell Mikhail felt the same.

"Our family's been around for a while. Eventually, you run out of boys' names."

His roommate snorted. "So Cassius, Elena, Romero, Constantine and Zephyr." He straightened with a groan. "I hope you all gave your parents hell for that."

He laughed despite the pain in his temples. "Elena? – not so much. But yeah, it's a little much." He watched Mikhail nimbly get to his feet.

"Four un-conscripted boys in the family – your parents must be wealthy."

"Not really. Only Cassius is married so far, and Elena's been offered a high bride price which should even things out." But it was true. Wives did not come without a cost anymore, with the government's scheme to cut divorce rates. "And I hope to earn my own, after Vaughn." _If I don't turn out to be gay…_

Mikhail looked at him curiously, but didn't comment, choosing instead to return hazardously-strewn textbooks back onto shelves. He could see the expanse of his back as he struggled with the books. His skin was almost translucent in this light, stretched tight over prominent, fine bones; he could probably trace those pale blue veins with his fingers if he got close enough. He shook himself and rolled over to face the wall. "Hey, toss me that bottle beside my lamp, would you?"

"The blue one?" It landed against his shoulder. "Don't take too many. There are probably interactions with all that caffeine you've been swigging."

He grunted, downing two dry. _What interactions._

* * *

The sky was gray when he next cracked open his eyes, roused by the urge to _pee_. He spared the window another glance as he stumbled out of bed. _Typical of it to be raining on the very first day of break._ His head was still spinning as he felt his way along the line of tables, the odd chair, rounding the corner to the bathroom. He wondered where Mikhail was. Usually his roommate would have called a warning by now, as he turned too late and walked into the bookshelf, wincing. The light and the running water didn't register until his hand nudged the bathroom door open a crack and the waif in the shower caught his attention. His eyes widened, and in the dream-like haze, he almost thought he could see water sluicing through dark cropped hair, and over narrow shoulders and small, pale breasts and a nipped waist and legs that were taut and slim and unmistakably, undoubtedly, indisputably female.


	8. Ambrosia

**Prompt #78: Starvation**

**Rating:** PG-13

* * *

Grogginess. Like wool over the ears, or blood laced with morphine. He hadn't felt _grogginess_ for so long it took him a moment to place it. Small hands were gripping his arm, and he flinched away out of habit. He gazed down at his limbs like they were no longer his own, watched them twitch independent from his mind. Then the dull background throb pierced through the fog of his head; he gritted his teeth against the lancing pain. He blinked hard, slowly focussing on the humanoid figure crouched beside him.

"…_all right?"_

Cool fingertips smoothed across his throat – his heart leapt as his stark vulnerability registered for the briefest moment – before transversing his trachea, following the angles of his neck to dip into the skin above his carotid pulse. There was pressure on his leg, and he jerked as the pain stripped his nerve endings raw. Undoubtedly female. She'd dug her knee into his thigh, probably upstream of the bleed, pressing her weight over him. He was stunned by his degree of immobility.

"…ey, hey, you've lost a lot of blood."

Yes, he could feel that, the euphoria of being drained. Judging by the location, perhaps a severed femoral, if the pain was any indication. Wet cold clinging material. The tang of blood. A victim of his biology, he could already feel the uncomfortable pressure in his gums as his canines lengthened. Already, the baser instincts were kicking in, the heightened senses, the slowing of the heartbeat and that predator calm stealing over his body. He could feel the burning, healing sensation of his artery stitching itself back into one piece.

She leaned in close, busying herself with a tourniquet or something. The smell of her, saturated with his scent, filled him, her fresh, live-ness. Some hint of perfume, the rushing of blood. Saliva flooded his mouth. Half conscious, he felt his hand close around her wrist, easily encircling it, skin soft like nothing he could remember and her bones like fine china. The throbbing of her pulse under his fingers, her intake of breath in his ears as he flipped them over so that it was his body pressing them down. He found the jugular, teeth puncturing skin and muscle, the heat of her spurting against the back of his throat. He gulped her down, that rare, clean, sweet little thing with blood like ambrosia. Her nubile body might have even struggled beneath him for a little before the endorphins overwhelmed her, but he'd discovered long ago that he could really only concentrate on one thing at a time, and the taste of her was just far, far too distracting. Maybe he'll even keep this one. He despised country life, but it was getting harder and harder to find a decent feed in the city these days.

Her pulse fluttered in his hands and he could hardly bring himself to stop, withdrawing carefully, reluctantly, sealing the wound shut to leave two small, unmistakable bruises. She lay like a pinned butterfly, stiff and pale on the ground, hair unbound and staining the concrete bright like yellow brass. Body sated and heavy, feeling the strength seep back into his limbs, he brushed a finger over those little marks on her neck, and kissed her gently. His mind was made up.

* * *

_I realise it's a little vague, but this one is meant to be Mina and Kunzite._

_And thank you for the reviews! They are much appreciated _


	9. Mischief management

**Prompt #71:** Mischief Managed

**Rating:** PG

* * *

"He's a cocky bastard, that one."

Ami looked up from her constellations to find Mako fuming into her coffee. There hadn't been anything thrown so far, so she assumed that the Zeun princess wasn't completely wired just yet. "Who is?"

Mako seemed to relish this opportunity to vent. "Lord High-and-Mighty, Warden of the North, General Fucking Nephrite, that's who."

"Language…"

"He comes into the kitchens straight from the stables like nobody's business, and asks for a late lunch as if we were to cater to him directly. Who does he think he is?" She ended with a deep scowl.

Ami smiled into the pages of her book. Mako hadn't been so annoyed since the middle-ranking generals sniggered at their roles as Protectors of the Inner Realms. "Well, Her Majesty does allow His Highness' Companions run of the palace, and besides, it's not like you were supposed to be in there anyway. I'm sure it wasn't personal."

But Mako was the type to take any slight very personally. "It doesn't matter what I'm supposed to do or where I'm supposed to be. It's his manner that offends. Even if I _were_ a kitchen maid, he should not have the cheek to stare me up and down and command for a meal. The man must be soft in the head if he thinks he can get away with it. I should poison his damn cocoa." The tall brunet did have a somewhat unnatural attachment to his cocoa.

The half-attentive Hermean made a sound that was neither agreement nor disagreement. "Just remember Mako, he's too big for me to carry, and I'm hopelessly slow at digging holes so if you're looking to dispose of a body, Rei would be far better help."

The Zeun sunk deeper into her chair, grousing. "I would challenge him to another spar, but quite frankly, it's getting kind of old." But her lips spread in a grin as she remembered with great pleasure that look on his face when she pinned him the first time.

"You know, there are other ways to get back at someone apart from beating their heads in."

"Yeah, poison," Mako snorted. "Don't think that would go down too well with Minako though. Or the Queen, for that matter."

Ami rolled her eyes, not unkindly. "You're a fantastic cook, Mako. All of your creations are delicious enough to make us cry."

One mahogany eyebrow lifted. "…and?"

"Well, maybe your food can make him cry for an entirely different reason."

Her spine uncurled out of its slouch. "…interesting."

* * *

It was unfortunate that the Terran King preferred all his gatherings to be set up – placement of the lords and ladies and suchlike – according to the format of a Terran court, that is, placing himself at the apex of a triangle, with his heir to his right, then his sons in order of birth, then on his left, his generals and higher lords in descending rank. To accommodate the Lunar Queen however, he'd had her seat placed diagonally across from his, so that she might sit her household and court to mirror his, that the four lines of seats formed a square.

This was unfortunate because when one greeted the monarchs standing at the centre of the square, there was much whirling around involved. First the Lunar Queen was acknowledged, then the Terran King. After were their respective heirs and offspring, one after the other, then their respective guardians. It was all rather tedious. But this afternoon, filled to the brim with heady anticipation, the Zeun princess barely registered the inconvenience.

"I must say, Princess Makoto, it _has _been a while since we were last treated to your expert culinary hand. This is both an honour and a delight." They say something about men's hearts through men's stomachs, and the Terran King was certainly not one to buck the trend.

"Please, Your Majesty, the honour is surely all mine." She gestured to the serving staff hovering in the wings. "These are candied pears from my homeland. We usually use nectar from ambrosia blossoms to coat the fruit, but unfortunately those can only be grown in a tropical clime."

She heard Serenity gasp with pleasure as the individual little dishes were presented, and she smiled to herself. "So I have substituted the ambrosia with white Lunarian honey instead, which lends a light crispness that I hope you will enjoy."

General Nephrite was only the slightest bit uneasy as a serving girl set a dish on the table beside him. In it sat an innocent looking pear, with little clear crystals pressed into the green skin. Upon further investigation, he found that the tapered top opened like a lid to reveal a hollowed out interior filled with glistening pear flesh, presumably infused with Lunarian honey. It seemed edible enough. He looked at his companions surreptitiously, still feeling suspicious. _She's up to something…_

"Ah Princess, it is truly remarkable." The king obviously had no such suspicions of his own. "The lightness of the taste is incomparable – sweet, yet not cloyingly so. It dissolves on the tongue like cream, yet you say it is honey? Your legend precedes you indeed." He waved at them, grinning broadly around his mouthful. "I urge you all to taste."

General Jadeite's eyes met his briefly, a half shrug on his shoulders as he popped a spoonful in his mouth. Nephrite cocked an eyebrow as he watched the blonde Companion demolish the pear with wide eyes, then scrape the porcelain clean, licking the spoon. He turned his brown eyes to his own plate. Plucking the 'lid' with his fingers, he tasted it cautiously. _Seems… quite nice, actually…_

Dipping his spoon generously into the pear, he brought to his lips… and froze. _This…!_

"How do you like it, General Nephrite?" Princess Ami's soft voice rang out in the hall.

He hastily swallowed his mouthful and cleared his throat. "Uh, it is delicious, milady, quite something." But he stared down at the remaining dessert with an expression akin to mild horror.

"Is there something wrong, General?" It was the Princess Rei now, all daggers in smiles as always.

He forced a smile of his own, conscious of all eyes on him. "No, milady. Um, I just worry about my allergies, see. I am quite sensitive to honey bees." A blatant lie, as his friends would know, but thankfully, they were silent.

Princess Makoto laughed. "Oh don't be silly General! White honey is not harvested by bees. It is milked from the moonflowers by hand." She cocked her head a little to the side, a devious little smirk playing on her lips. "I hope it is to your liking."

"Of course, of course. It is delicious, naturally." He swallowed another spoonful, blinking furiously. The innocent little pear wallowing in syrup seemed like the most formidable dish in the world. _You devil-woman. Minx. Spawn of…_

* * *

She couldn't hold back her laughter as she pictured the general's pained expression yet again. Sitting in the shade of the gardens, she hummed as she basked in the glow of her success, digging into the extra large pear she'd saved for herself. To thank Ami for her contribution, she was planning a trip to the sky-docks in the morning to snap up the new shipment of Hermean cod, which would be really complemented by that brilliant sauce she'd whipped up on Wednesday…

"Princess."

She froze for a split second as that deep baritone registered with alarming clarity. Jumping up so that she could match his height somewhat, she swallowed before meeting his dark eyes defiantly. "Good afternoon, General."

He glowered at her. "Interesting thing you did with that dish there, Princess."

"Not at all. It is customary for the Zeun royal family to present edible gifts to visiting Houses."

He flinched ever so slightly at the mention of 'edible'. "I shall remember that for future reference." _No doubt he would._ But now she watched him warily as he stalked closer. "What are you playing at?"

She was a picture of nonchalance. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

"What is it you have against me?" She took a step back as he advanced. "The challenge, the duel, and now this. What have I done to make you dislike me so much?"

She frowned, temper flaring. "I do not know how it is done on Earth, but here in the Inner Realms, if you would insult me and mine and expect me to sit there like a placid Terran female, you are sorely mistaken."

When he didn't respond immediately, she stood her ground and continued. "You Earthlings may consider your female counterparts to be inferior, but here in the Realms, we are just as able, if not more, than you male folk. So yes, you have done much, you with your unfounded arrogance, your airs and your commanding us 'kitchen folk' to do this and that and make you this and that whenever it please your royal ass-"

Thinking back, she realized this particular part could have been easily avoided if she'd just taken her eyes from his to watch the position of his hands, since he obviously wasn't listening to a word she was saying. Because in the space of a breath, one hand had grasped the jut of her hip, pulling her into him, while the other had caught her chin and pressed his open mouth over hers. Even now, eons later, she'd redden at the thought of these events.

His tongue played over hers, seemingly uncharacteristically gentle. His fingers danced along the line of her back. There was a strange, biting saltiness in his mouth, which she realized must be the remnant of the dessert she'd prepared for him specifically, seawater instead of sweet syrup. She wondered if he could taste the real candied pear in her mouth, the white honey from moonflowers mixed with pear flesh, smooth and caressing on the tongue, melting like cream in the warmth of the mouth, and light and crisp and sweet and utterly, utterly incomparable…

He broke the kiss just as suddenly, smile on his lips. "That is my response to your cruel little dish." Now she was the one to stare speechless as he moved to head back to the palace. "Oh, and-" he turned his head, satisfied smirk lighting in his eyes, "I hope I would have to chance to taste that sweet Lunarian honey again, in the near future, if you would be so obliging. I find it is a taste that will be hard for me to forget."

* * *

_This was inspired by a scene from Chinese drama _Bu Bu Jing Xin_, which I do not own either. Hope you liked!_


End file.
